Wessington Springs herald. (Wessington Springs, Aurora County, Dakota [S.D.]) 1883-1891, 1887-03-04
A MILANESE MYSTERY.
BIZ ELwARD EU.

BIZ ELwARD EU.
1t was in the crowded corridor of an
italian op%era-house that I first encountered
the glance of those strange, beautiful eyes
those eyes about which I have so often
however. You remember, jerome, how
frequently you have accused me of having
surrendered my heart at the mute command
of a pair of wonderful eyes. You remember
how often you have begged me to tell You
the name and something Of the history of
this fair goddess at whose shrine I wor-
shired. I have never gratified your
curiosity, my friend, ana you will doubt
less wonder why l should do SO now, and.
indeed, I cannot define the motive that
dmpels ME to make you my confdant. 1t
is, perhaps, the need of some diversion,
however melancholy, in this dreary sick
room life Of mine, or the necessity of UNI
folding II phase in a life that they tell
me is near its close.
1t WIS there. in the Teatro della Scala, of
Milan, that, turning aside to speak to a
friend, [ met the searching, concentrated
gaze Of a pair Of large. widely opened
blue eyes. Their expression was infinitely
peculiar; at once cold, hau ghty, and most
~sorrowfuliy pleading. This, with the
changeable hue Of the eyes
passing in moment from
the lightest blue to the darkest purple, left
an almost weird impression upon me. For
several minutes we remained thus abstract
eddy gazing at each other till the lady,
dropping her eyes with an appearance of
slight confusion, left me free to observe
the other features of a face which the pos
session Of such remarkable eyes argued
beautiful. 1t was indeed most beautiful
though corpse like in its extreme pallor.
The features were exquisitely chiseled, and
the mouth of such a winning sweetness
that I could scarcely reconcile it with the
GOODNESS and the naughty sadness of the
eyes. The hair was n lustreless black, and
dressed with q simplicity that betrayed its
abundance. The figure was tall and en-
.dowed with q swayiug grace that did not
deprive it Of dignity. At this point in my
observations I was cut short by some
movement of the crowd that placed me ut
such Il distance from my divinity that I
caught but one feeting glimpse OF her pro-
file, which 1 instantly pronounced the most
perfect I had ever beheld. But my admi-
ration. extravagantthoug it was, was shared
by oil my Milan acquaintance who mingled
in the world Of society and were on speak
ing terms with the fashionable lions and
lionesses. That the unknown beauty was
one Of these latter I did not doubt, and,
by judicious inquiry. soon discovered that
she was a widow who called herself the
Contcssa di San Siviglione. Her history,
her antecedents, even her native country
were so many mysteries to the curious Mi
1anese who, nevertheless, received her at
their most exclusive salons, courted her,
and feted her, and were in every respect
her most humble servants, while she &C.
copied oil attentions with a naughty mel
ancholE and q graceful self-possession
that took all hearts captive and piqued
still further the curiosity of her enter
tanners. Years ago, Jerome, I told you
chat for days after the ieeting vision of the
Teatro della Scala, I thought of nothing,
spoke of nothing, dreamed of nothing save
the beautiful face of the Contessa di San
Siviglione. I was young then, and this was
my first and my only romance, so that my
delight, when l finally made the %acquaint-
ance Of the possessor of those haunting
eyes, was unbounded. With a long,
scrutinizing glance. a glance at once of
recognition and of careless interest, the
'Contessa saluted me with O few we'll chosen
and graceful ~words-words so graceful that,
although they were uttered in the most
correct and harmonious italian, 1 felt the
instant conviction that the speaker was a
French woman.
1t was not many weeks, Jerome, before
the Englishman and the Contessa were
fast friends. 1t is true, I had learnt moth
ing of her history. but We had many SYM
pathies in common, and l believed that the
ardor of my WI feelings would soon
change her friendly interest into a warmer
sentiment. Meanwhile. other admirers
grew more plentiful every day. Rulnor
was still rife with stories of her former
career. and there was not q day that some
friend did not stop me on the piazza della
Scala with some report more marvellous
that its predecessors. "Why," said u dis
satisfied and eossipy old Marchesso to me
one day as We stood talking in front of the
Duomo. eit is a moral certainty that she is
the singer Pompone whose death, for rea-
best known 10 herself, WAS falsely
limited about some months 400. Have Won
mot observed the peculiar timbre of her
voice, which, by the way, she uses very
rarely III conversation, and can never be in
,duced to use in singing at all, though every
one wonders at he- more than Italian de-
volion to the nightly opera at the Tea,ro
della Scala? Do you not notice her silence